


Shawarma Palace

by beemotionpicture



Series: bee's Thor's Week 2019 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 5+1, Gen, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, The Avengers Live at the Tower and Nothing Hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beemotionpicture/pseuds/beemotionpicture
Summary: After they move into the Tower, the Avengers eat at Shawarma Palace every Tuesday.—Thor’s relationships with the other Avengers, +1 of their weekly team dinners.





	Shawarma Palace

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4: Home

**Rainbow**

Thor visits him at the range most days. Clint wonders how he always seems to know he’s down here.

He asks an awful lot of questions about Clint’s technique, and while Clint isn’t _irritated_ , per se, it’s getting to be a little frustrating to have his choices questioned all the time.

It all comes to a head when Thor asks to borrow his bow. Clint makes sure to keep the scowl off his face.

“Why?” he asks, and he tries not to come off as hostile. If it does end up that Thor’s yanking his chain, Clint’ll (ask Natasha to) punch that grin off his stupid face.

“I am merely curious,” Thor says. “Your form is different from mine. Midgardian archery has developed differently from that of Asgard, I suspect due to the difference in our physiology.”

Huh. Well that calms him a little.

Thor has always rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it’s the volume of his voice, the constant invasion of personal space—but if Clint were being honest, he’d admit that he’s still sore over Loki.

They were raised together, after all. That kind of megalomania isn’t inborn, it’s learned, and Thor isn’t exactly the picture of humility.

Still, maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss. Clint has put faith in more untrustworthy people before, after all.

So, Clint says, “sure,” and hands the bow over.

Thor hefts it in his hands, studying with a thoughtful eye. Then he faces the targets on the far end of the room and draws the bowstring deliberately, carefully.

Thor’s right; while his form probably looks the same to the untrained eye, there are differences in his stance. His muscles aren’t overly tensed, but the way he shifts his weight is all wrong for this bow. He holds it with the ease of someone familiar with the tool, and Clint really shouldn’t be as surprised as he is, probably.

Somehow, with this look of concentration on his face and the sharp glint in his eyes, Thor looks the part of the warrior he never fails to remind them that he is.

“How much weight do you draw with this? I cannot tell.”

Clint shrugs. “About a hundred pounds, give or take. It’s really just for practice.”

Compound bows normally have a max draw weight of seventy pounds. The bow in Thor’s hand, however, had been designed by Clint himself—SHIELD scientists are surprisingly accommodating of his requests.

Thor smiles, still in what Clint supposes is proper form for an Asgardian. He hasn’t looked away from the target once. “On Asgard, we are taught to draw about…hm. Five hundred pounds as children? I am not quite sure of your units of measurement.”

Clint choked. The math comes to him quickly, second nature at this point. Velocity, acceleration, wind resistance…the numbers are nothing to him. “Holy shit, that’s awesome.” An arrow would travel at Mach 1 with that weight.

He realizes in that moment just how much restraint it’s taking for Thor not to snap his bow in half.

Thor hums. “It is _truly_ awesome.” He grins, finally releasing the tension and directing the bow downwards.

Clint accepts the bow as it’s handed back to him. He relaxes, putting his hands on his waist and grinning back. “You know, there’s not much info on Viking archery techniques out there. Even less on Asgardian ones,” he says, cocking an eyebrow with mirth. “And trust me, I’ve looked into pretty much everything. Ever heard of a Yumi bow? They’re from Japan…”

There’s a twinkle in Thor’s eyes as Clint launches into an explanation about the most obscure bowing techniques he's ever learned of. For the first time since joining the Avengers, Clint’s finds that he enjoys being himself again.

  
  


**Water Spout**

Curious about Clint and Thor’s new—well, _whirlwind_ of a friendship, Natasha asks Thor to spar one day.

He agrees amicably, clapping her on the shoulder with a familiarity he hasn’t earned. The practiced smile never leaves her face. She’s used to handsy men and this is nothing new.

She wonders what Clint sees in this Thor Odinson.

They begin, no fuss, no preamble.

Natasha fights dirty. Against her, brute force is nothing—and that is all Thor has been taught. At least, that’s what his first swing looks like. Everything after that initial attack stirs her interest in him even more.

She relaxes her stance, and he stops accordingly. Neither of them is panting, but she’s not particularly proud about it.

“You’re holding back,” she says, accusing but good-natured. Her lips quirk up to say that she’s amused, but that’s not quite it. But she thinks keeping things light and easy will appeal more to Thor, so she keeps it that way.

Thor inclines his head, almost sheepish. “I apologize. I do not mean to offend, but…”

Natasha lifts her shoulders in a lazy shrug. “No, I get it,” she says, before pausing in a thoughtful silence. She crosses her arms and looks at him knowingly. “Must be frustrating, having to hold back against us ‘mere mortals’ all the time.”

He sees it for the quip that it is. She’s not being self-deprecating or anything; that’s just how things are. Thor can control _lightning_ for chrissakes.

“Not at all. It’s interesting, sparring with humans—but especially you, Natasha,” he comments, and it’s a point in his favor that he calls her that.

Her eyebrow lifts and the smile doesn’t leave her face. “And why’s that?”

Thor doesn’t take the time to think about it. “No one on Asgard fights like you. It’s a nice change of pace, having to adjust to such different forms.”

“I can imagine. You must be used to battle against people who use weapons.”

He hums. “It is not just that. Actually,” to his credit, he doesn’t hesitate to voice the thought, “the person who most shares the techniques you favor is probably my brother.”

Thor mentions Loki, sometimes, but never in front of Clint. She appreciates that. Natasha knows that Loki is dead because Thor had told them so from the outset. She doesn’t think it’s much of a loss.

But she can tell that Thor grieves for him, and she allows him to have that much, at least.

“Well, I do not mean techniques, exactly. Rather…your approach.” He clarifies, “On Asgard, it is not honorable to hide behind tricks, or subterfuge.”

His expression shows that he is of the same opinion, but a thousand years of being taught that will do that to a person, she figures. She still holds it against him.

But he looks like he wants to listen.

It’s not her job to explain, but she finds that she doesn’t mind. Another thing that surprises her.

She tells him of the perceived weakness of women on Midgard. She tells him of red rooms and wars that cannot be won with force alone. She tells him that she cannot afford to have less in her arsenal than others, and Thor knows she does not mean weapons.

Natasha sees the moment it dawns on him that _she_ had been going easy on _him_.

He declines her offer to spar again and, thoughtful, Thor leaves.

Natasha’s curious when Thor approaches her days later. He tells her stories—and not one of those epic adventures he narrates to the team occasionally—about the training he had received as a child, training he had long since forgotten. Loki had always been small, and Thor always competitive, so when their mother took it upon herself to teach Loki the ways of the blade, Thor of course had to learn himself.

He’s trying. It’s an okay start.

Natasha listens, learns, absorbs.

Weeks after sparring, Thor finds himself trying harder and harder to keep his ground. He smiles at the challenge, and Natasha always smiles back.

  
  


**Star Trek**

The thing is, Steve and Thor’s relationship starts off pretty awkward.

Sure, Thor defers him as leader on the field. Bruce tried to explain it to him once, saying something like, “You have an aura that quietly asks for respect, and people give it to you because you deserve it.” Now Steve’s not so sure about that, but he’s glad they’ve placed their trust in him anyway.

He doesn’t know how things are done on Asgard and he’s not quite sure he likes it. Thor sometimes slips and says things that have the rest of them awkwardly shifting on their feet, have them coughing and trying to direct the conversation to something else. Steve does the same sometimes, but never quite as often.

Then the team has movie night for the first time, and Steve thinks he understands Thor a little bit more.

They sit across the room from each other in big, plush couches that they can’t seem to settle on. They glance at the others’ expressions when there’s a reference in a film they don’t understand, and they bite the inside of their cheeks instead of asking yet another question about something they don’t have context for.

Steve and Thor enjoy the same food. It’s a luxury for Steve, and a novelty for Thor. They indulge in the junk food Tony stocks up the kitchen with because they both have the metabolisms that mean they stay fit anyway. And they both eat _a lot_. Probably the only person who eats more is Bruce, after a code green.

Thor gives Steve curious when he comes home from his everyday morning run, and one day Steve invites Thor out to join him. Steve tells him about the long stretches of pavement he used to run back in D.C., and Thor tells him about the wide planes of the different realms he’s visited.

They stop at a farmer’s market when they happen to come across it one morning.

“I take it they didn’t have those back in your day?” Thor says with mirth at Steve’s examination of the bundles of green leafy vegetables in front of him.

Steve looks at the kale and the “superfoods” in the stall. Natasha had been amused as she explained people’s fixation with antioxidants and bioflavonoids or something. He shook his head as he straightened. “At least people are a lot healthier now.” He turned a lopsided smile at Thor. “But this must be pretty strange to you, too. How is your food back on Asgard?”

Thor made a noise of agreement. “Not all that different when it comes to staples. Bread, meats, fish and the like.” He grinned. “But Alfheim does have this fruit which looks like a mix of your bananas and cherries. It is a challenge to harvest, as you have to avoid the teeth…”

Thor shares stories like the fantasy novels Tony’s “surreptitiously” been leaving in their rooms. And yet Thor seems so captivated with learning more about humans—he can be surprisingly, well, down-to-earth for an alien prince, he thinks.

Steve greatly enjoys going to parks with him and just watching people, taking him to the different museums around his city and absorbing culture. After a while, that dynamic transfers to battle as well.

They’re no strangers to war, he knows that. They’ve seen loss, and they would see it again. That doesn’t stop them from trying.

On one particularly difficult raid of a Hydra base, they make eye contact and it’s like they can read each other’s thoughts in that instant. It’s the second time Thor brings down Mjolnir onto his shield, but this time they’re fighting together. And together, they win.

They enjoy maneuvering around each other, using the tools they to aid one another. Steve’s glad to have made a friend he can navigate this strange new world with.

  
  


**Thunderclap**

Hulk doesn’t like thunder—it reminds him too much of the sound of gunfire. Bruce quite enjoys the rain, though.

It’s been raining a lot, lately, and Bruce lips quirk upward as the weather reports are proven wrong time and again. He likes to curl up on the couch in the common room and sip steaming mugs of tea, the occasional coffee.

He notices the faraway look in Thor’s eyes whenever it rains. He’s remembering something, Bruce thinks. Bruce used to have the same look in his eyes a lot, before he learned to swallow those kinds of things down.

Thor doesn’t seem like the type of person who’s used to having to swallow things down. He’s mellowed out a lot since the first time they met on the helicarrier, though.

Tony likes to talk about the others when they’re tinkering in the lab sometimes. He doesn’t have a very high opinion of Thor, and Bruce can understand that, too.

For the most part, Bruce is pretty ambivalent towards the others. Thor kind of represents the kind of person he tried to avoid back in high school, the kind that never wanted anything to do with him in college. But the thing is Thor genuinely seems to enjoy his company.

Weird.

Bruce catches the tail end of a video call Thor has with Jane Foster, and he blinks as he realizes he’s helping her out with recreating an Einstein-Rosen bridge.

“They teach astrophysics on Asgard,” Bruce comments before blowing at the steam rising from his mug. It’s raining again. “I wish I could’ve had lessons like those.” He says this with a small, sleepy smile.

Thor turns to him from where he’s seated on the couch, and a dip forms between Bruce’s eyebrows as Thor doesn’t even bother returning it.

“Banner,” he says, perfectly polite but he looks more weary than he should. The Avengers have had a quiet week.  
  
Bruce inclines his head and settles himself on the loveseat to the left of the couch Thor’s sitting on. “Thor. You seem a little tired. You alright?”

Thor clicks the Starkphone shut and sets it aside. He leans back and is quiet for a moment before commenting idly, “Yes. I just- I was with Captain Rogers this morning and saw a woman on the street who looked like my mother.”

Ah. “You miss her? Can you visit her on Asgard?”

Thor looks out the window and shakes his head. “No. She rests in Valhalla now… _and I shall not mourn but rejoice_ ,” he says it with the air of someone quoting a prayer. An elegy.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. He knows what it feels like, to lose a mother. “And what about the other times?” he nudges softly.

Thor looks back at him and doesn’t bother pretending. “For such a different realm, so many things remind me of home.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Thor.”  
  
Thor shakes his head. “Not at all.”

Bruce closes his eyes and lets the sound of the rain wash over them, both content to sit in silence.

It’s not often there’s a code green, but when there is Bruce always braces himself before transforming. Hulk bats at Thor more nearly as much as he does the enemy, and Steve pulls them aside after one battle and firmly tells them to sort things out.

Bruce and Thor look at each other kind of helplessly.

Then Clint has the great idea for them to hash things out on the field, because, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

That’s what finds them in upstate New York in a clearing that goes on as far as the eye can see.

Bruce hesitates as Thor sets down his hammer and stands in front of him, not in armor or even Earth clothes, but in a threadbare tunic instead. He takes in the sight of the others standing off to the side, Clint having climbed up a tree, Steve standing with his arms crossed, Natasha seated on the ground, and Tony tapping away at his phone.

He gives in to the ever constant push of the Hulk waiting to come out.

The Hulk looks around and narrows his eyes at the lack of enemies, grunting when he focuses on Thor instead. He roars and tenses, hands clenching into fists.

It begins to rain.

Hulk stands there in confusion as the air doesn’t rumble, the sky doesn’t flash. It’s peaceful here, and the smell of the rain—petrichor, puny Banner supplies in their mind—reminds him of the times he’s woken up in lush forests. Safe.

He blinks at Thor, who stares quietly at him back. It is the most still they’ve ever been with each other.

Then Clint sneezes, and the moment is broken.

Thor snorts and Hulk rolls his eyes.

In the back of their mind, Bruce thinks it’s a good start.

  
  


**Electrifying**

Tony finds Thor super hot.

Who doesn’t?

Doesn’t mean he likes the guy. He’s loud (Tony’s usually the loud one), way too smug than he has any business being (again, Tony), and is overall pretty likeable (and so is Tony).

(Hm.)

They don’t work as well on the field as they do with the others. Despite _Natasha’s_ —how could he ever get over that utter betrayal, honestly—assessments, he can, believe it or not, play well with others. But Tony and Thor both still prefer to do their own thing when they can.

They’re raiding another base looking for Loki’s scepter and something hits him in the chest. He has other arc reactors in the suit, but the blow is jarring enough that it’s taking a while to get the systems online again. (He should really address that in the next upgrade. It can’t be the reactor efficiency, so it must be that new alloy he’s trying out. It’s lighter, but sacrifices conductivity—)

There’s a theory he’s been wanting to test for a while. Steve’s probably give him shit for it later, but oh well. “Thor, give me a boost will ya?”

Thor grunts as he takes a swing at another tank. “ _What?_ ” His voice crackles in Tony’s comms, another sign of imminent power failure. Damn.

“Shock me, catfish. I’m going down.”

He supposes Thor hears the urgency in his voice because there’s a flash of lightning and chorus of “ _Stark?!_ ” in his ear. He loses altitude.

…and gains it back at the sudden battery boost.

He gives an excited whoop and increases repulsor thrust to 130%. He thinks he can hear a hearty laugh in his ear, but can’t be sure. The adrenaline rush that comes with flying always makes it easier to block everything out.

The raid ends up being a bust, but still. _This_ is interesting.

Tony takes off the helmet as soon as he enters the quinjet, whirling around to see Thor landing on the ramp as well. He chats Thor’s and Bruce’s ears off the entire ride home, citing the need to examine Mjolnir and Thor’s physiology. (“For science, Bruce. _Science_.” “Sure, Tony.”) Bruce isn’t even ruffled by his talking a mile a minute, although Thor looks a bit bemused.

They dock at the landing pad of Avengers Tower and Tony’s ready to drag Thor to his lab and lock themselves in there for the next 48 hours. Steve gives him a look and a stern talking to that makes Tony want to roll his eyes. Eventually, he gives in and allows Thor to get some rest before he starts poking at him with a stick.

He still locks himself in his lab, though. Bruce does not approve.

After an acceptable amount of time, his examination begins. Interrogating Thor about his hammer (forged in the heart of a dying star my ass) and his anatomy (“You have a _what_ now?”) is a waste of time; it’s like they’re not even talking about the same things. Tony tells JARVIS to scan Thor on all possible frequencies, running tests until they’ve exhausted all possibilities.

The team’s having breakfast in the common room a while they wait. Tony walks in and immediately makes a beeline for the coffee maker, conveniently next to the toaster which Thor seems to have short circuited. Again.

“Another one, buddy?” Tony coos. He leans against the counter and sighs into his cup of steaming bliss. “I got a ton of those. Don’t worry about it.”

Tony’s voice is nonchalant, but his eyes are calculating. Thor’s still glaring at the poor toaster that’s done nothing to him.

“So,” he starts, trying to make conversation, “explain to me again how you keep zapping my tech?”

“I do not _know_.” Thor looks frustrated. He runs a hand through his hair. “If you could build a soul forge it would be simple enough to show you.”

Tony is just about as done as Thor looks. “A _soul forge_?”

Thor hesitates, thinking about how to phrase things. “Yes. It, ah, generates quantum fields?”

Tony stares.

Thor shifts on his feet. “At least that is how Jane put it. I am not sure—”

“Thor,” Tony says as he clasps Thor’s arms and looks up at him eagerly, “this is perfect.”

Thor blinks at Tony.

He barely notices, mind too focused on what this means for them.

How had he not seen it sooner? It’s not that they aren’t talking about the same things, it’s that they aren’t speaking the same _language_.

 _That_ Tony knows how to overcome.

When they’re not training, going out on missions, or doing “team bonding exercises”, Tony and Thor spend their free time in the lab.

Days later and they’ve worked out a system. Thor describes Asgard’s “magic” while Tony and JARVIS try to translate his terms to scientific ones. They teach Thor Earth engineering and physics jargon, and Tony’s surprised to find that their terminology shares commonalities with the language in use by other planets Thor’s visited in the past.

It takes weeks but eventually they have a working knowledge of each other’s tech, enough that Thor’s helped Tony create prototypes (“Still rather primitive, though.” “Shut. Up.”) of early Asgardian magical devices. It’s some of the coolest stuff Tony’s ever worked on.

Okay, so maybe Thor’s not just a pretty face. He’s a cool guy, someone Tony considers a friend now.

(Doesn’t mean it stops him from enjoying the view once in a while.)

  
  


**Shawarma Palace**

The Avengers have dinner at Shawarma Palace every Tuesday.

It is Thor’s favorite team activity—his favorite over watching Dog Cops with Clint, over listening to music with Natasha, over watching Steve sketch in the park or enjoying Bruce and Tony’s company in the lab. He enjoys it even more than movie and game nights, although he has to admit playing Twister with his team comes close.

They are all of them _very_ flexible.

These meals are dear to Thor’s heart because there seems to be some unspoken rule not to miss them. Each of them has their reasons to withdraw every once in a while, Thor included; sometimes even he, with his outgoing nature and innate desire to connect with others, needs a break from the rest of them.

Thor spends those days flying to the different corners of Midgard, taking in breathtaking views and letting the storm wash over him. He always returns to the Tower, refreshed and renewed.

Thor has sampled many cuisines from his quests on other realms, and contrary to what others may think he is not picky with food. Asgard’s fare tends to be bland, but the food that can be found in New York is more varied than expected for such a small part of the world. Thor finds that sometimes he likes it, sometimes he doesn’t. It is a reminder that his new home is so foreign to him.

The owners of Shawarma Palace are kind. They chase the paparazzi away and limit the number of customers that dine in the restaurant while they are there. The Avengers do not ask for any special treatment, but their usual table is free every week since they started this tradition.

Tonight, Thor is quiet. It is raining, a calming night shower that has passersby tilting their heads up to the sky instead of ducking for cover. They enter the restaurant and a young couple greets them warmly—regulars, not ones who come to the restaurant to catch a glimpse of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

Tony and Steve like to order different things each time they come here; Clint, Bruce, and Thor have settled on their favorites; Natasha steals food from the others’ plates instead of ordering anything herself.

Tony likes to chuck pieces of meat in Clint’s direction and Clint, of course, catches them in his mouth without fail. Bruce eats with his hands, always—dips bread in sauce and somehow manages to do so without mess. Steve takes long swigs from the coke that never seems to leave his hand; he likes to buy an extra bottle to drink on the way home. Natasha spears things she finds particularly tasty and pushes them onto Thor’s plate for him to try, and Thor likes them every time.

It is a quiet night, and the only sound is of Clint tapping away at his phone.

“I saw that,” Natasha says out of nowhere. “Don’t you dare post it on instagram.”

Clint grins, not looking up from the screen while Steve tilts his head in confusion.

Bruce is the one to explain, like he often does. “It’s a social media website for sharing photos, Steve.”

Tony makes grabby hands at Clint. “Lemme see.” He swipes the Starkphone from Clint, who gives it away without complaint. He snorts when he sees the photo, and holds it out for Thor to see. “Look, Pikachu, good candid shot of you. Do you ever look bad in pics? Seriously.” He shakes his head in indignation.

Thor hums and takes the phone in his hand, swiping through the album. They’re all photos of the team, not just from today in the restaurant; they go back weeks, group or individual shots taken from a high vantage point that Thor suspects is the ventilation system of the Tower.

He brings up the front facing camera and extends his arm, trying to get all of them into the shot. The others catch on pretty quickly.

Steve straightens up in his chair and Natasha nudges him into relaxing his Captain America smile; he looks a tad more sheepish as Steve Rogers. Tony smirks, eyebrow quirked up and Clint makes a symbol with his hand with the thumb, forefinger and pinky extended. Bruce doesn’t stop eating. Thor snaps the photo.

It’s a good one, all things considered. Everyone’s in the frame, they all look good and most of them are even looking at the camera. Bruce is caught mid chew, Natasha’s stuck her tongue out, Tony’s glaring at Clint who seems to have pinched his side under the table, and Steve is smiling genuinely at the camera.

All their expressions are bright, but Thor’s is arguably the fondest.

He makes an account when he gets home, and posts the picture on instagram.


End file.
